


The Way of the Axe

by Serenade



Category: Chronicles of Amber - Roger Zelazny
Genre: Family, Gen, Pre-Canon, Weapons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-21 08:07:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12453150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serenade/pseuds/Serenade
Summary: Deirdre chooses her battles.





	The Way of the Axe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Filigranka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Filigranka/gifts).



Oberon of Amber has three sons. Benedict, the general. Eric, the politician. Corwin, the poet. They are all warriors.

Deirdre is the first daughter.

There has never been a Princess of Amber before. There is no template for her to follow. But her brothers are all accomplished swordmasters. When she comes of age, Deirdre seeks out Benedict, as Eric and Corwin did before her. He is Master of Arms of Amber, and he knows all there is to know about weapons.

When they were all younger, Deirdre threw herself into their childish scuffles for dominance. But Oberon looked at her torn skirts and bruised fists, and she read cold rebuke in his face. She stopped challenging her brothers. They stopped challenging her. They fight with swords now. They are forever duelling each other, sometimes in jest, sometimes in earnest. Eric favours the broadsword, while Corwin prefers the sabre.

The armory is ablaze with torchlight, glinting on a hundred blades that cast a thousand shadows.

Deirdre says, "I want to learn the axe."

Benedict lifts his eyebrows minutely. She has succeeded in surprising him. "An unusual choice." He regards her with his measured gaze. "The axe is the oldest of weapons. The first axe was a sharpened stone held in the hand. A tool for hunting. A weapon for war. But an axe cannot duel a sword. It is not made for that."

Eric and Corwin laugh at her lack of interest in swordplay, but she can tell they are keen to rank her ability. They are waiting for the day she picks up a sword to challenge them. She is aware of their grown strength and skill. She has not tested her own against them. An axe can cut through anything it strikes. It is an instinct half formed: to prove her worth, on a field where she cannot be beaten.

Choose your battles. Change the terrain.

"I don't want to fence," Deirdre says. "When I fight, I want to mean it."

***

Deirdre has no memory of her mother, who died when she was born. When her father brings home his new wife, Deirdre holds no rival in her heart. Unlike her brothers, she is ready to be curious and open. Clarissa bears Oberon three children: Fiona, Bleys, and Brand.

Deirdre has never had a sister before.

Fiona is bright and perceptive. She asks difficult questions. "What happened before the world began? Why there are kings but no queens?" She always has her nose in a book, reading about history and magic. But she seems completely uninterested in weapons or warfare, to Deirdre's great despair.

She wants to teach Fiona the things she has learned. She wants to tell Fiona about carving out your own sphere. "You have to fight to win their respect. But you don't have to fight on their terms. Don't let them persuade you that their strengths are the only measure of worth. Don't let your enemy choose the terrain."

Fiona smiles, noncommittal, and returns to her book. Only years later, does Deirdre realise that Fiona had been listening to her after all.

***

When Oberon betrays Clarissa with Moins, he loses a wife, and Deirdre gains a sister.

Llewella is quiet and thoughtful: easy to love but hard to know.

When she comes of age, she goes not to Benedict to learn swords, nor to Dworkin to learn sorcery, but back to Rebma beneath the waves, surrounded by the song of the sea. Deirdre cannot understand why.

Llewella smiles one of her wistful smiles. "You were the one who told me to choose my own terrain."

Rebma is the mirror of Amber. But a mirror is but the thinnest film of silver painted over glass. One sees the surface reflection, not the hidden depths. Deirdre has walked through the city in a green haze, admiring the pearl palace and coral gardens. She has no idea how far down the ocean goes.

She tries again. "But you are a daughter of Amber."

"I am equally a daughter of Rebma. My mother rules here, and my sister will rule after her." Llewella's smile grows teeth. "Better to reign in Shadow, than serve in Amber."

***

Deirdre no longer allows herself to grow attached to her father's wives and mistresses. Moins is succeeded by Harla. Then by Rilga, who bears three sons. Then by Dybele, who bears a daughter.

Flora is wild and carefree. She is always loud, always laughing. She is the one who tells Deirdre, "I don't need to hear the speech."

"What?" Deirdre pauses, wine glass halfway to her lips. They are on the balcony of the imperial palace in a Shadow called Summerhaze, looking out at the sky full of floating lanterns. The doorway behind them spills music and laughter from the ball.

"The speech you gave Fiona and Llewella. Choosing your battles, finding your place. Well, I don't want to fight battles, I want to have fun." Flora eyes Deirdre with a knowing look. "He's never going to give you what you want."

Power. Respect. Authority. The duties and domains that their father has delegated. Caine and Gerard have the Royal Navy. Julian has Arden. Deirdre has--

Deirdre has an automatic answer by now. "I'm not interested in that kind of responsibility. To be free to explore Shadow--"

Flora cuts her off. "You're not interested in fighting a losing battle. Well, neither am I." Flora downs the rest of her wine. "Let's dance."

***

Deirdre walks the labyrinthine streets of Tir-na Nog'th, the ghost city in the sky. She climbs and climbs, paying no heed to the phantoms of past and future. She is here to arm herself, to challenge Eric and his lies. She is seeking a weapon forged in moonlight, a weapon that can kill a prince. An axe is not made for duelling.

She finds it in a shrine to a dead hero: a double axe whose blades are midnight and moonsilver. Someday she will slay serpents with it. It hangs on the wall above an altar, lit by a hundred candles that cast a thousand shadows. Silver roses wreathe it, beautiful and fragrant. She takes a deep breath, closing her eyes. Surely the legend is wrong. Surely an axe that was cursed would not be so revered.

"Deirdre?"

She opens her eyes.

Corwin is there, lighting a candle, turning to look at her with incredulous eyes. Corwin who has been gone these many centuries. Deirdre feels her own eyes mist. She still looks at his trump every day, even though she has stopped hoping he will answer. Whether or not it is foolish to give in to illusion, she embraces him.

"Deirdre," he says, wonderingly, and buries his face in her hair. "Are you really here? I missed you."

"I missed you too," she says.

Eventually, reluctantly, he pulls back, looking at her as though she might disappear. "What are you doing in this place?"

Deirdre does not say, Eric hungers for power. She does not say, he has usurped our father. She does not say, my birthright is equal to his. She says, "I am seeking a weapon I can use to protect Amber from her enemies."

"You always have." Corwin looks at her with mingled pride and sorrow. "Sometimes I wish you were not so brave."

"Tell me one thing," Deirdre says. "Did Eric kill you?"

Corwin shakes his head. "I am not dead. I will come back. I promise."

She wants to believe him. If he is alive, then Eric is not a fratricide, and she need not become one either.

"Stay with me," Corwin says. "Don't ever leave me again."

It is the hour of dreams and wishes. She can stay here in this moment for a little while. "I will stay until the moon sets and the sun rises. I will stay until the stars fade from the sky."

She holds him close, but her eyes look over his shoulder, to the axe hanging on the wall. She thinks she can guess the truth behind the legend of the curse: simply that an axe is for offence, not defence. To lift it up is to leave yourself open. Laying everything on the line.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Way of the Axe [podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13954890) by [semperfiona](https://archiveofourown.org/users/semperfiona/pseuds/semperfiona)




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